Archives: Health

It’s World Cancer Day. Please, take a vow today to touch yourself more often. Not because you’re pervy (though I’m fine with that, too), but because your fingers are the ten best tools for early detection and could mean the difference between life and death. Get a bottle of wine, draw a bath, and get to know your body. I beg you.

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Do you need to work out? (Yes. The answer is yes. Yesterday was Super Bowl Sunday and everything you ate was either covered in, dunked in, or made of CHEESE.)

Fitness guru Neila Rey knows how hard it is to keep your fitness routine from growing stale, so she publishes a new workout regimen on her website every week. The fun part? The programs require no equipment and are based on your favorite superheroes – so you can get the body of Batman, Wolverine, or The Avenger. (My tip to you – the Storm Trooper workout looks pretty easy. Probably why Storm Troopers never actually hit their targets.)

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Just thinking about this makes me a little nauseous. Next week is the 37th Annual Empire State Building Run-Up event. Around 500 runners will race up 86 flights (1,576 stairs), take a lap around the observation deck, and then collapse at the feet of the nearest elevator operator (or that would be me anyway). The fastest runners do it in 10 minutes. They are obviously aliens (Kelly Ripa ran it last year, and it’s a well-known fact that she’s an alien).

Most of the runners are professional staircase or tower runners (that’s an actual thing), but there are about 200 “normal” folks who do it for charity. And because they are missing the part of their brains that should tell them this is crazy.

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I am totally preoccupied with the fact that something is wrong with my Netflix, and I can’t get any episodes of Dexter to play. It’s been a week, and I’m getting the shakes.

This video is going to have to hold me over until I can watch Michael C. Hall drape a room in plastic sheeting and kill someone. I don’t know when it happened, but that has become my happy place after a long day of work.

I give you: a parody of “What Does The Fox Say” by the medical students of Harvard. And I mean, seriously, what DOES the spleen do? The lyrics had me hugging my gut (is the spleen near there?) all the way to the end. The doctors of the future sure are a gas.

Tada! I survived my surgery and have lived to blog another day! As far as hospital experiences go, mine was really positive.

My personal highlights:

The nurse who checked me in assured me that I wasn’t going to die by telling me that I’m not Michael Jackson. I had been wondering for a long time if I was, so that was kind of a letdown.

My anesthesiologist was a cross-eyed version of Jason Statham.

The last thing I remember saying to my surgeon before succumbing to the anesthesia was, “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Floridian.” No idea why I said that or what it means.

While I was in recovery and totally loopy, I seem to recall giving the thumbs up to everyone who walked by my bed like I was The Fonz. I vaguely remember hearing one doctor say “I love when we get patients like that.” I’m sure he meant “mental patients.”

When it came time to take a walk to the loo (a requirement before they discharge you), I argued with the nurse about being forced to wear hospital issue underwear. I lost. I find it remarkable that I still managed to locate my vanity after 8 hours of wearing a hospital gown.

Thanks to everyone for your messages of care and concern – they helped so much!

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So I’m having my first ever surgery tomorrow morning. My biggest fear (besides dying) is hitting on my doctor while I’m under anesthesia. I’ve always been a little uncertain about his sexual orientation and am terrified I’m going to ask. The one time I had alcohol in college (an ill-advised combination of tequila and wine), I was bodice-rippingly amorous to everyone in the bar, in the bar bathroom, and on the staggery walk home. I’m afraid I’m going to tear open my hospital gown for the entire medical staff.

In the meantime, I desperately need ideas for good tv shows to watch while I’m laid up for the next week – anything I can binge watch. Please send your recco’s if you care anything at all for my survival. (Also always looking for good book suggestions of the get-lost-in-it variety!)

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It’s impossible to live in New York City and not be acutely aware of the Amazonian runway models who roam our streets like aliens from another, more attractive planet. If I had a nickel for every time a model with 9-foot hair extensions swung her ponytail into my mouth while stealing my taxi, I’d live in the Trump Tower. And the male models? They just look right through me with their laser-beam eyes as if my BMI is being analyzed…right before they deem me unsuitable for sex.

The good news is we’ve been seeing real women with real curves in ad campaigns for several years now, but where are the real men hiding? Apparently, the answer is in London. The British newspaper, Sun, put together this fun photo series that shows ordinary men mimicking the poses of big name underwear models.

Color me crazy, but the chest hair, the pale legs, the pouch, and the awkward nakedness? That’s all a helluva lot sexier to me than a man covered in baby oil who moonlights in male revues.